Messed Up
by notesofwimsey
Summary: She's as Cold As Ice. He would do Anything for Love. Can Danny and Lindsay find each other? DL, FS
1. Chapter 1

Messed Up

Chapter One: Cold as Ice

_You're as cold as ice; you're willing to sacrifice our love_

_You never take advice; someday you'll pay the price, I know_

When he first saw her, he turned away. "Stay cool," he reminded himself. "Don't show her it mattered." Then he turned back, his usual smile on his face, but his eyes cool and withdrawn.

Lindsay nearly walked past without saying anything; she could feel her stomach clenching. Still, when he drew near, she cleared her throat and said, "Hey, Danny."

"Montana," his voice was as cold as the room they were about to process. The dripping icicles surrounding them left the floor shining and treacherous underfoot. He had watched as Lindsay had already slipped twice in her heeled boots, leaving her to pick her way carefully.

"Danny, about tonight…" her voice trailed off as he turned away.

"No problem. Catch you some other time," He started towards the Ice Princess's throne on which the dead body lay, but she reached out and grabbed his arm. He stopped and turned to her courteously, one eyebrow raised in query.

"I want to explain, if I can …" her voice trailed off again as he gently but firmly stepped away.

"No need, Montana. Message received, loud and clear, okay?" Dammit, dammit. He'd done so well up until now, but the sight of her hurt brown eyes was going to drive him to do something stupid: either yell or cry, he didn't know which. He'd be safer somewhere else. Probably, so would she.

Lindsay watched him walk over to Mac to check in, and her resolve almost cracked. She felt as if she was encased in one of the ice walls that reflected Danny and the other CSIs and officers on scene. She'd give anything to take back the evening – to just show up and have dinner with her friend, let loose and explore this tingling place that lay between them and see where it went. She'd been dressed and ready to go, cab fare in hand, but when it came time to walk out that door, to actually step over that threshold into a new possibility, she had frozen first, then crumpled where she stood. Shaking, she had stepped back from the open door, and had retreated to her bedroom. Curling up defensively in her bed, she'd succumbed to the now-genuine migraine she had planned to use as an excuse for standing him up.

Hours later, when she was called in to the vodka launch scene, she could still feel the remnants of the vicious headache that had held her in its grip, leaving her wasted and heaving on the bathroom floor as she tried to rid herself of … what? Guilt? Or something else?

Danny could not look at her as they processed the scene. Even as they worked together, he avoided her face, looking over and through her as much as possible. Until he had to work at not doing it, he had no idea how many times in a day he had deliberately placed himself in her path. Tonight, when Danny would have given anything to be on another call, they were working side by side, bouncing ideas off each other and working the evidence as always, yet he was trying to avoid her gaze, stay out of her orbit. He had no idea how often in the past he had brushed against, or casually teased her, until he was trying not to.

And it didn't help that every time he did see her, brushed against her, had to speak to her, she flinched as if he'd hit her. He withdrew to the other side of the lab as often as possible and focusing on his tests. When he had to share his results with Lindsay, he was as quick and efficient as possible.

Throughout the long shift of searching the scene, then processing evidence back at the lab, her face, which had looked pale and unhappy when she arrived, became dead white and painfully pinched. Her eyes seemed stretched and stared unseeingly when they were not squinting to examine results and fill in paperwork. Danny worked so hard at ignoring her that it was a shock to hear Mac say in that calm voice that was worse than a yell, "Lindsay, why the hell aren't you home in bed?"

Danny looked at her properly for the first time since that moment at the party room entrance and his heart stuttered. How could he not have noticed the state she was in? "I'll take her home, Mac. I hadn't realized …. Why didn't you say something?" he hissed at her.

She blinked at Mac, at Danny, then without a sound simply slipped to the floor. Mac caught her just as before her head struck the countertop behind her while Danny stared in shock.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: You're a Heartbreaker, Dream-Maker, Love-Taker

_You're a heartbreaker, dreammaker,_

_Love-taker, don't you mess around with me_

Any other work place would have called 911 for an ambulance, but here, Mac just picked her up and carried her down to the morgue for Sid to examine her. By the time Mac had reached the elevator, with Danny right behind him, a mortified Lindsay was conscious and struggling to be put on her own feet. "Let me down, SIR, " she said which such determination that Mac reluctantly let her feet slide to the floor. He kept an arm around her, just in case, though.

"You need to be checked out by Sid, then Danny's taking you home." The voice of command brooked no argument, and with a sigh, Lindsay knew it was better just not to argue. She choked at the thought of Danny driving her home cloaked in ice as he had been all night, but when she looked over at his worried face, she began to breathe a little again and felt herself begin to thaw a little as well.

"Sid can't do anything, Mac. It's just a migraine hangover; I've had them since the … since I was pretty young." Both men had noted the slight hesitation, but, eyes meeting over her head, silently agreed not to pursue it at the moment.

Unmoved, Mac ordered Sid to give Lindsay a thorough checking out, and ordered Danny to take her home once it was done.

"You don't have to stay, Danny. Sid can page you when he's done. You should go back to the lab and finish those tests. Please? I'm fine."

"Don't even go there, Monroe." His face was bleak and set, and with a sigh, she gave in to the total humiliation of the next several minutes.

When she finally was tucked into the car Danny had borrowed to drive her home, her head was spinning pleasantly from the pain shot Sid had given her, but she could not relax. She felt as if she were floating somewhere a few feet above the pain, but still connected to it, like a kite to a string. She also felt cheap, letting Danny think she'd stood him up over a migraine, when it was so much more that that. Even her pediatrician back home, a dear, doddering old man, had told her parents that a migraine was a symptom, not a disease. Just the though of trying to explain herself now was overwhelming, so she took the coward's way out again, and escaped into sleep.

Danny couldn't help glancing over at Lindsay every few minutes. "That's three, Montana," he muttered under his breath. Three times she had made his heart stop with fear: when he'd heard the radio call about the bomb blast at her crime scene; when he'd watched her strap on the flak-jacket to go under cover; and when he'd seen her bones dissolve in front of him and she'd hit the floor.

He discounted the way his heart had slowed in the restaurant as he had waited for her to show up. Every breath then had become a conscious act, as he waited half an hour, then 15 minutes more, telling himself she was running late, caught in traffic, lying to himself at every tick of the clock. Lindsay was never late; it was one of the jokes of the lab. As soon as 7:00 had passed, he had known she was standing him up. His hand had strayed to his cell phone a hundred times, but each time he'd stepped away from that final, total loss of pride.

Until now. What he had been unwilling to even contemplate earlier that evening, letting her see his hurt and anger, had become irrelevant now. Even Mac, an observant but not very emotionally attuned person, had quickly realized that Lindsay was going nowhere without Danny. She may reject him in the end: Danny thought he was prepared for that, though it would be like amputating a limb, but he wouldn't leave her now until she told him to.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Magic Man

_Cold late night so long ago_

_When I was not so strong you know_

_A pretty man came to me_

_Never seen eyes so blue_

When they arrived at Lindsay's apartment, he simply lifted her, still sleeping, in his arms, after rifling her purse for the keys, and carried her to her door. She felt cold, almost brittle in his arms, as if his conscious effort to freeze her out all night had actually worked.

He kicked open the door and stopped for a moment – he had never been in her apartment. It looked pretty empty considering she'd lived there several months. The few things she had picked up or brought with her seemed to have been chosen with care to fit together and begin creating a home. Instinctively, he moved through the apartment to the back to find the bedroom, placing her gently on the bed, slipping off her boots, and pulling a bright, flowered quilt over her. Mission accomplished, he sat on the side of her bed. He stretched out his hand, ignoring the fact that it shook a little, to stroke her honey brown curls, then moved in to the kitchen to see if he could find her some food.

When Lindsay woke up, she lay in bed a moment, wondering what had happened. How had she got home again? She could tell from the sky outside that it was well into the daylight hours, so she had slept, but for how long? Why was she still dressed? In a flash, the whole horrible night came back to her and she pulled the pillow over her head to shut out the deservedly cold reception Danny had given her, the humiliation of Sid's thorough exam, and the bitter-sweetness of knowing Danny must have brought her home and put her to bed.

She rolled over, surprised by the lack of pain in her head. However, moving alerted her to a crucial need, and she reluctantly got out of bed to use the bathroom, groaning slightly. When she stepped through the door, she stopped in shock.

Her bathroom sparkled, as she knew it had not when she had run out of the apartment after answering the phone. After spending most of the evening between her aborted date with Danny and the early morning call alternating between her bed and the floor of the bathroom, she knew that the room should look, and smell, a lot worse than it did at present. Someone had scrubbed the floor, the sink, and even the toilet.

"Humiliation: complete." She finished what she had come in for and went to see if she could find something to eat.

"Problem, Monroe?" She bit back a scream as she came around the door and saw Danny sitting at his ease on her couch, drinking a beer and channel-surfing.

"You…you…" she stuttered in shock, then said the first thing that came into her head. "You cleaned my bathroom?"

The corner of his mouth curled up in appreciation for the honest dismay she felt, and he said casually, "Made you soup, too. It's in a pot on the stove. " He stood up and stretched, yawning a little more than he needed to. "Anything else you need? 'Cuz I should get home."

"Oh Danny," she stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, really sorry, for everything." To her shame, her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears. Before the first one could fall, he was holding her in his arms, wiping her eyes and stroking her back. He didn't move until she had finished crying, but once she had, he stepped away. Moving to the kitchen, he efficiently spooned her out a bowl of soup, putting out crackers and bread and pulling the butter out of the fridge.

Bemused, she wondered how long he had been waiting for her to wake up – he seemed to have had plenty of time to explore her kitchen, and clean her bathroom, she thought with a groan of dismay. She glanced at the cow clock on her kitchen wall, a moving gift joke from her Montana colleagues, and froze in shock.

"3:00?" she gasped in horror, "How can it be 3:00?" They had finished the scene in the early morning, then worked in the lab – she must have slept for hours.

Danny turned around with a very serious look on his face and, beginning with, "Well, you see, Montana, what happens is, the earth moves AROUND the sun …," would have gone on to explain the entire workings of the known universe if she hadn't groaned theatrically. When he shut up, his smile lit up his eyes for the first time since the flash bomb had gone off. She felt more warmed by that sight than she did by the soup steaming fragrantly in front of her. She tasted it, then took another bite.

"I didn't have anything like this in my cupboard," she stated positively. "Danny, did you ... did you cook?"

He flushed a little at the disbelief in her voice, but said casually, "All part of the service, ma'am," in his worst cowboy drawl.

"You cook; you clean; if you can tell me the batting average of the New York Yankees starting line-up, I might have to ask you to marry me!" She hoped that the reference to his joke of a few months ago would keep the mood light. Instead, it was as if she had hit a switch. The warm, teasing light died out of Danny's eyes and he turned away from her to wipe the pristine counter.

"I should go – I need to check in with Mac before I go home," he said briskly. He hung up the towel carefully and went into the living room to grab his jacket. "Anything I can do for you before I go? Anything you need?" Nothing but kindness and a friendly interest showed in his voice or face.

Her mind longed to scream out, "Stay! You!", but her mouth would not open. She had lost it all this time. Somewhere, she'd lost her chance.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Heart of Glass

_Once I had a love and it was divine_

_Soon found out I was losing my mind_

_It seemed like the real thing but I was so blind_

_Much o' mistrust_

_Love's gone behind_

"You cooked? You cleaned?" Don Flack shook his head at his friend's shamefaced glare. Danny sighed – he really didn't want this getting around the lab. How come Flack always picked on the weirdest details when Danny tried to talk to him?

"Had to do something. She was out for hours. No big." The Staten Island accent came through thick and strong, as it always did when Danny was upset. "Let it go, 'kay?"

Flack opened his mouth to push a little harder, but then he looked at Danny again. The gleam of humour that always warmed Danny's eyes was gone, as was the sardonic smirk. Danny looked beaten up, Flack realized, as if everything which had happened since the assault on his brother had finally caught up with him. Although Flack had never before admitted that the time for a joke may have passed, he was admitting it now. Hiding his concern, he grinned at Danny and said, "To be continued!" and went to find Stella. She would know what was going on if anyone did, or she would find out.

"Can't tell you, Flack," Stella pushed her dark hair out of her eyes impatiently. "Whoa," she said when he opened his mouth to argue, "Not won't – can't. No one is talking – not Linds, not Danny. It's like a morgue in here." Then she laughed and looked around the morgue pointedly. "Even more than usual, that is!"

"He won't talk to me either – just says it's all good and he's busy. Won't go for a drink, won't go on a date, won't go out after work – whatever it is, it ain't all right."

"Lindsay, too. Not that she was ever a partier, but even when I tried to get her to go listen to Mac last Wednesday, she asked for a raincheck. What is going on?"

Mac was standing behind her, and made her jump when he put his hand on her shoulder. "No fights, no faints, and no practical jokes? I'm kind of liking the new lab." He sighed and shrugged at her annoyed look. "Listen, Stella, that sort of thing doesn't belong at work. I like Danny and Lindsay; if they get together, I'll be happy for them. It's just that the soap opera in between gets in the way. I haven't been able to send them out on a case together for a week, 'cuz they don't talk to each other. I need my team at least functional, even if most of them are crazy."

Stella considered her mentor, boss, and sometimes friend. It was true he didn't like complications at work – look how uncomfortable he was with Peyton in the lab or in the field, for example. Still, would a little compassion (not to mention romance) hurt him? She nodded judiciously, then said, "If it were up to me, I'd send them out on the next call. Look, Mac," responding to his doubtful look, "You know they won't mess up a case over this – thing between them. They're too professional for that. They managed to pull together nearly all the evidence we needed for the Ice Princess murder even though Lindsay was obviously ill. But putting them together may at least get things moving. Things are blocked up tighter than an impacted bowel around here; I'd hate to be around when it explodes!"

Both men reacted with distaste to her graphic turn of speech, Flack gagging ostentatiously, but they nodded nonetheless. The old MAD joke, "It a little TOO quiet out here," was starting to feel true - the storm was hovering.

"Okay," Mac said, with a bit of a sigh. "Next call, I'll send out Danny and Lindsay."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Heartless

_Heartless! Heartless! He thinks it's so cool to be cold_

_Never realize the way love dies when you crucify its soul_

When the call came in, Danny was relieved to be out in the field. Even though he would be working the scene with Lindsay, he thought he would be able to stay out of her way, or at least keep it cool and friendly. He'd worked so hard at putting his feelings for her on ice, he sometimes felt cold all the way through. Still, if a professional relationship was all he could get, he was determined to make that, at least, work. He never wanted to see that look on Mac's face again: the one that said, "You poor sap, you are suckered for life now."

Flack, Stella, even Hawkes and Sid had all been after him to lighten up, be his old self, but he felt as if every loss of the past few months had built a wall between him and the rest until he could barely see over it, and was less and less interested in trying. Mac got by without feeling everything so damn much: so could Danny Messer.

When he got to the scene, he had to take a deep breath before going in. It was a domestic violence scene – he hated those. He always wondered why the guy had to take everyone else out with him. Why not just keep it clean and off himself first? This guy had taken a wife and - Christ Jesus – two little kids who couldn't be more than three or four years old.

He was taking pictures of the mother's body when Lindsay walked in. Patricia Weldon had been severely beaten before husband Ray had shot her; there was blood spatter throughout the house where he had chased her. Like everyone else on scene, Lindsay had suited up before coming to protect the evidence.

"From the postion of the bodies, it looks like she was trying to protect the kids when he shot her," Danny said as matter-of-factly as he could. He didn't look up at Lindsay. The last time they had processed a scene with young children, she had had trouble handling it. He didn't want to remind her of that now. He continued, "The little boy was shot execution style, back of the head. The baby girl was under the mother – maybe a through and through caught her. They bled out before the beat cops got here. A neighbour called it in."

Lindsay nodded, even though Danny couldn't see her. If he was determined to keep this professional, she would oblige. After all, it's all she had wanted when she came out to New York – to be a professional and be treated as one. Still, a small part of her heart ached – no smile, no joke, no "Hiya, Montana." Who would have thought that she could miss that hated nickname so much?

They processed the horrific scene almost silently, speaking only when they had to. Lindsay left the bodies to Danny; she knew her squeamishness wasn't very professional, but he seemed to be perfectly fine. He took pictures, moved the tiny bodies, measured angles, and took samples without turning a hair. Of course, it was his job, and whatever else one might want to say about Messer, he was good at his job. Still, one would think that he might say something about how terrible it was. Lindsay had seen Danny punch holes in walls over less sickening scenes than this.

And this one was with children, just babies, really. How could he do that? How could he just turn off like that? The longer they were in the small apartment together, the more unreasonably angry with Danny Lindsay became. When had he lost all the compassion she had loved in him? Swiftly she corrected her own musings: admired in him? As her anger grew, her responses to his occasional comments became terser and more clipped, until finally, with a shrug, he just stopped talking to her.

He finished up before she did, and casually said, "I'm taking this stuff to the lab. Release the scene when you're ready, okay?"

Barely able to contain herself, she merely nodded as he walked out the door. Suddenly rage overcame her better sense: she pulled the covers off her shoes and ran out of the apartment after him. This time, she would tell him exactly what she thought of him. Her throat was so tight she could hardly breathe, but she wasn't going to let this go.

When she reached the street, though, she couldn't see Danny anywhere. She ran down the stairs and went to the right, walking a few paces that way, then turning and going back towards the corner of the street on the left hand side. As she drew up to the alley in the middle of the block, though, she suddenly pulled up short. She could hear retching, then the unmistakable sound of an investigator losing whatever meal he had been able to grab before being sent out on a scene. She didn't need to look to know that Danny's ice act had been just that: an act.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Everybody's Talkin' at Me

_Everybody's talkin' at me._

_I don't hear a word they're sayin',_

_Only the echoes of my mind._

_And I won't let you leave my love behind._

Every CSI who had been partnered, even briefly, with Danny Messer would talk about one habit which drove them crazy, which was his complete inability to sit still. "He is the most restless person I have ever met," Aiden had once confided in Stella. "It's like he's always revving a little too high."

Stella sighed when she looked into the lab where Danny was working today. That energy was gone, had been gone for some time, she realized. Danny worked as hard as ever, maybe harder, but he was so contained, so silent. There were no teasing smiles or practical jokes. Everyone had noticed that Lindsay was no longer Montana, and perhaps no one was too surprised, given the tension between that former team, but it was so much more than that, Stella thought. All the light in him had dimmed, and not even she could reach him.

She desperately wanted him to talk to a counselor, but she knew he would fight her to the death on that one. He had done his mandatory sessions after Louie's beating, and again after Aiden's death, but Stella wasn't stupid. She knew perfectly well that Danny had done what they all did when forced into getting their head shrunk: they lay low, said just enough to pass, and then went out and got drunk, or ran themselves stupid, or did whatever they needed to do to get through the nights.

But Danny was putting it all into work: his guilt over Louie, his grief over Aiden, his fears that all the people he loved would be hurt or killed in the line of duty. It was hard, Stella thought, to be a cop. Everyone you spent time with every day was at risk in ways that ordinary people weren't. And Danny's life was in the lab: all his friends, all his family.

Stella couldn't help but feel responsible for him; it was part of what made her such a good friend. She was "big sister to the world" in all the best ways. But there was more to this – as a member of the team, she knew that something had to give. The growing storm she had talked about with Flack and Mac only a week ago had passed, which should have felt like a good thing. However, if that tension had been leading up to a storm, this felt more like the utter stillness people in Florida and on the coast talked about just before a hurricane. A storm can drench, flood, and damage; a hurricane can kill.

Stella wandered over to another part of the lab, and watched the other source of her unease through another walled of glass. Although Lindsay had worked with them for nearly a year, Stella didn't feel she knew her well enough to figure out what she needed to help her through this difficult time. Lindsay had known neither Aiden nor Louie, but had fought hard to solve both cases. The attack on Stella herself had seemed to shake Lindsay more than it should: Stella considered Lindsay a friend, but they weren't so close that Lindsay should experience such trauma.

She'd had enough trauma of her own the last few months: Lindsay had been blown up twice, and come face to face with a killer with a gun. Unlike most cops, she had not balked at going to the department shrink for even a moment. Indeed, she had seemed relieved to go, and had been quickly cleared for duty.

"I'm not buying it, little Miss Butter-wouldn't-melt," Stella said just under her breath, "I am so not buying it."

She turned impetuously to look for Mac. Somehow she needed him to see the people working for him as more than just foot soldiers. He was happy as long as things were moderately quiet and the lab could run efficiently, but if he couldn't feel the lava flowing under him, she could, and it was time to talk about it.

She took one step and ran straight into him. He had noticed her restless prowl through the office, and had come to see what was going on. She put a hand to her bumped nose and laughed up at him. "We've got to stop meeting like this!" she joked.

Mac's face lit up with a smile, but his eyes remained concerned. "What's up, Stel? You seem worried."

Why did she always think of him as unemotional? He was pretty good at picking up on her insecurities, at least. Of course, she admitted with a quick inward grin, she was hardly subtle in the feelings department. Mac had once wryly said Stella's emotions were one of Earth's physical features that could be seen from space. She replied equally seriously, "We need to talk, Mac, out of the office and privately, but very soon."

"Lunch?"

"Now?"

"Meet you at Gelman's deli in 10, okay?"

"Thanks, Mac."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Rocket Man

_And I think it's gonna be a long long time_

_Till touch down brings me round again to find_

_I'm not the man they think I am at home_

_Oh no no no I'm a rocket man_

_Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone_

"No, Stella," Mac voice was stern. "No, I won't talk to them. And no, you won't either. They're grown-ups. They have to deal with this themselves. And I'm just as happy if it stays out of the office."

Stella sighed in frustration. Mac was just not listening to her. "This is not about their love lives, Mac," she patiently tried again. "This is about more than that. They are both hurting, and it is hurting all of us."

Mac looked at her quizzically. A calm and rational Stella was a new sight, unless she was on a case. Perhaps he had jumped to conclusions about the focus of her concern.

"Okay, lay it out for me, Stella, as if it were a case." He sat back with his coffee cup in his hand and stared at the table as she gathered her thoughts. Testing, he thought, with an inward grimace: did he really have to be testing everyone all the time?

It didn't take her long. She had been running through this for days, almost since the day Lindsay had gone in undercover and nearly been shot. By the time she had tied together all of the traumas Danny had been through, and outlined Lindsay's extreme reactions to some of the recent events, Mac was staring at her in admiration.

Stella cleared her throat. He was looking at her as if he couldn't believe his ears, and she accepted that he still felt she was over-stating the obvious. She hurried to reassure him.

"Of course, you know all this, Mac. We were all there. But I think that Lindsay has brought something new to the mix, and it could be a catalyst for something worse. I'm not blaming her," Stella rushed on as Mac's eyebrow lifted quizzically. "It's just she seems to have reached some part of Danny no one else had, or … I don't know. I am really uneasy, that's all."

"You present an excellent case, Stel. I agree that something has to be done. Of course, I knew Danny would have trouble, but when he passed through his psych exam, I figured he'd be okay. Yes, yes, I know," he grinned at her pungent dismissal of the department shrink, "but she knows what the key danger signs are, and she passed Danny through without a hint of doubt. Lindsay, too."

Stella took a sip of her now cold coffee, and worried at a napkin until it lay in shreds before her. She looked up to see Mac watching her restless hands. "I don't know what to say, Mac. I KNOW everything is not fine. I KNOW Lindsay needs help, and I know Danny is on the edge. I am so afraid of missing something, of not being there when one of them jumps…" she trailed off, realizing what she had said. "Oh God, Mac, that IS what I'm afraid of."

He raised that eyebrow at her again, "Do you really think either of them is suicidal, Stella? I'm not buying that."

She shook her head uncertainly. "You're not Catholic, are you Mac? Suicide is a sin for a Catholic because it signifies despair – the belief that not even God can fix what is wrong. It is, in a sense, a refusal to believe God can make things right. Suicide is a worse sin than murder because it is a complete denial of God's power." She waited a moment to see if Mac got any of that. He just looked at her expectantly.

"I don't see suicidal in the sense you are talking about. I see despair. I don't know Lindsay well enough to know what is driving her, but I do know Danny. He is going to do something stupid, something dangerous, something that takes any decision out of his hands. And I don't know how to reach him first."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Crazy on You

_But I tell myself that I was doin' all right_

_There's nothin' left to do at night_

_But to go crazy on you_

_Crazy on you_

_Let me go crazy, crazy on you, oh_

Lindsay lay in bed, typing on her laptop. All the people she'd been IMing for the past three hours had finally begged off, and she was now idly surfing. Anything to keep from thinking; anything to keep from sleeping. Anything to keep from dreaming.

In the past few weeks, she had done virtual tours of all the museums, art galleries, and big tourist attractions in New York City. Her life had been so busy, and her shifts had been so sporadic since she moved, that she never managed to see them in person. Okay, she had been to the New York Zoo, but processing a scene had hardy counted as a magic moment exploring her new home.

Home. It wasn't really, was it? Montana was still home, even though she couldn't go back. For a while she had felt as if she were creating a place for herself here, but now she realized that had been an illusion. She was a valued member of the team, perhaps – Mac had assured her of that at both her three and six month evaluations – but she wasn't a part of the gang, the inner circle, anymore. It was Danny who had let her in. It seemed Danny was keeping her out.

With a sigh, she closed down her computer and slid down under the covers. That wasn't really fair; Danny had been perfectly polite to her since that night that she had humiliated herself completely: first by standing him up and then by fainting at work.

"Drama queen," she muttered to herself.

At work he was completely professional and never crossed the line. They were completing their cases quickly; they still worked together well, complementing each other's strengths and compensating for each other's weaknesses. They were a good team.

And it wasn't the same. In fact, it was awful. The last time he had looked at her, the last time he had called her Montana, the last time he had even pretended she was a real person and not a piece of machinery at work was in her kitchen, was when he started to explain to her the working of the universe. That cheeky grin, that light in his eyes: she had not seen either once since then.

"So what are you saying, Monroe?" She flipped onto her back and kicked her feet in the air in frustration. "You're the one who blew him off. You're the one who told him you didn't want a relationship."

She winced at the memory. He had caught her in the hallway, had laid himself out for her to walk all over, and, as if it meant nothing to her, she had. She had pulled the oldest, lamest excuse in the canon: she "needed to be alone", "couldn't have a relationship". With a painful cringe, she could hear her voice saying, "It's not you." Right: like anyone was able to believe that most pathetic and transparent of excuses.

She closed her eyes again, remembering Danny's face, hearing his voice as she turned and walked away, "If you need anything …"

How could she sleep? How could she not hear that voice echoing in her head every moment of every day? Every time she saw him in the hallway, she went another way. The locker room was hell – each time the door opened, she jumped a foot. She had started changing in the washroom and waiting to shower at home, just to avoid even the chance that he might be there at the same time she was.

It was not so bad in the lab – there were usually other people around and always lots to do, so her guilt was diluted. But then would come that moment when she would look up, almost expecting to catch his eye as she had for months, only to know he was avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him. Then the freezing feeling would move through the pit of her stomach, making her want to vomit up the pain and remorse that followed her around like a malevolent fog.

She rolled over in bed again, holding a pillow to her aching stomach, curling around it, holding it all in. What could she do? What could she do? There was no one to talk to – she had cut herself off from her family and friends in Montana. She had no one at the lab – Stella was one of Danny's closest friends, and probably hated her for what she had done to him. Lindsay didn't even contemplate talking to one of the men in the lab: a life living with and working with men had taught her that they did not want to discuss their own feelings, much less someone else's.

It was true, as Stella had noted, that she had gone willingly, even eagerly to the department psychiatrist. One thing she had learned through the past several painful years was how to psych out a head doctor. They always looked for the same things, asked the same types of questions. Lindsay considered herself an expert in reading the tones of voice and the searching looks, then playing whatever role she had chosen for the occasion. Sure, she had gone to see Dr. Reis; if she hadn't, she'd have been taken off active duty. Once she had her clean bill of mental health, she could concentrate on going crazy in her own way. She had no intention of talking to a doctor about her feelings: she had long ago learned her lesson there.

With a sigh, Lindsay sat up in bed again, reaching for her computer. The only way to stop thinking was to fill her brain with something else. If there was no one on-line, she could always read medical or forensic journals.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Friends will be Friends

_It's not easy love but you've got friends you can trust_

_Friends will be friends_

_When you're in need of love they give you care and attention_

_Friends will be friends_

Flack was waiting at the door for her when she came running down the stairs. Her shift was finally over, and she couldn't wait to go home, grab a shower, and then veg out in front of the TV. She had pulled a double shift already this week, and needed some serious downtime. When Flack looked at her with that half-smile on her face, Stella sighed. Her plans had probably just been shot.

"What? Don't tell me there's another case, Flack! I just booked out." Usually Stella, even after a double shift, would have managed a growl, but today she was afraid it came out more like a whine.

Flack looked a bit chagrined. "No, no. I just wondered if you'd like to catch a bite with me. I just got off shift too, but I can't go home yet."

"Can't go home?" Stella looked at him, a bit worried. "What do you mean, can't go home?" She was surprised to see a faint blush rise in his cheeks.

"Well," he was definitely embarrassed, "Ever since the … you know … bomb, my aunts and cousins have been taking it in turns to clean my apartment." The flush rose higher as Stella laughed. "I mean, it's nice of them and all, but … I have a lot of aunts, Stel! And they leave me food, which is great, but they also leave me phone numbers and …" his voice trailed off, one eyebrow quirked up to see if she got his point.

"Oh, I see. A kind of Merry Maids/Matchmaker service all in one!" Stella tried to muffle her amusement. Damn it all, Flack had had a rough time; he didn't really need her razzing him about his family. Still, the thought of Don Flack being haunted by a group of little old aunts was irresistible. (Stella couldn't help but see a whole troop of little Greek grandmothers dressed all in black, chasing him with plates of moussaka and trailing lists of "nice girls".) She looked up at his quizzical face and had to laugh as she slipped her arm into his.

"Come on, you big baby. I'll rescue you from your aunties. But you are buying me dinner, and don't try to fob me off with pizza! I want something exotic."

They found a Thai place a few blocks away, and found a seat near a window. Although Stella and Flack had worked together for some time, they were nearly always in a crowd. They'd never spent much time just talking. The first thing Stella learned about Flack was that he liked his food hot, so they shared a red curry dish that nearly blew them out onto the street, matching that with Pad Thai noodles and satay because Stella told him it was the only way she would eat peanut butter.

"Really?" Flack said, "I still eat peanut butter and toast for breakfast nearly every day. My father thought it was one of the four food groups. I just never outgrew the habit, I guess."

Stella shook her head in dismay. "You need the proper training. I ate porridge every day from the time I was 3 until I was 17."

"Wow," Flack looked impressed. "So do you still eat it everyday?"

Stella laughed at him. "Are you kidding? Croissant and coffee, when I can grab something!"

Dinner was over, and their plates had been cleared, but they lingered, enjoying each other's company. Finally, Flack leaned closer and said, "Stel, I did want to ask you something."

"Here it comes," Stella thought with a sigh. "Why does no one ever just want to spend time with me? Why does it always have to be work?" She thought with a slight frown about the lunch she and Mac had shared, when she felt he was examining her technique at presenting a case. Still, she schooled her face to look nothing but interested and asked, "About a case? Sure, what?"

Flack cleared his throat. "Nah, not a case. Stella, I wouldn't ask you out and then bring up a case!"

"Oops," thought Stella, "Ask me out?" Out loud, though, she just gave a non-committal, curious murmur.

"Actually, though, you may think this is just as bad," Flack admitted. "I wanted to ask you if you'd had any luck with Danny or Lindsay yet."

"Not a case, but not quite a date, either, then," Stella thought. Still, her own worry was evident as she answered, "I can't get him to talk to me at all. When he sees me, he goes the other way, or makes sure he has his hands too full to stop."

Flack nodded, "Yeah, me too. What about Linds? How's she doing?"

Stella had to stop and think about the last time she had actually talked to Lindsay. Although they worked cases together some times, they didn't share lab or office space. Stella wondered what the office Danny and Lindsay shared was like these days. "You know," she said slowly, "I think Lindsay is avoiding me too. I wonder why?"

She and Flack looked at each other for a moment. Flack cleared his throat again. "You know, Stella, I'm thinking Lindsay could use a friend right about now. I know that Danny could, but he won't let me near him. I think an ambush may be in order."

"Mac told me to stay out of it. I told him that I'm afraid …"

"Afraid of what?"

"That I'll miss it – that moment when I could have stopped something before it becomes … very bad." Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

"Yeah," Flack finished his coffee and pulled out his wallet. "Me, too. I don't think we should wait any longer."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Go Your Own Way

_You can go your own way (Go your own way)_

_You can call it another lonely day_

Danny kept walking down the street after he saw Don Flack and Stella sitting in the window of the little Thai restaurant. He'd wanted to take Lindsay there, give her a taste of something a little more interesting than pizza, but every time he asked her out to eat, she'd turned him down. The only time they'd managed to really share a meal was the creepy-crawlies gross-out in the lab, and fun though that had been, it didn't really satisfy the craving he had for going out on a date with Lindsay Monroe.

"Not gonna happen," he reminded himself. "She said no. Ya gotta respect that."

He had nearly stopped, and gone in to join his friends, but just as he had looked through the window again, he saw Stella throw back her head and laugh at something Flack said. Danny had seen Flack's face, and had stepped back out of sight. He didn't know when or how this had happened – he wasn't even sure Don knew yet that it had happened – but this was a date: no third wheels need apply.

He tried to ignore the sharp pang of bitter jealousy he felt. First Mac and Peyton: now Flack and Stella. He had been so sure, so confident that it was going to be Lindsay and him. He had known when he sat in the surveillance van waiting for her to make the jewelry drop that all the casual, friendly feelings he thought he had for her were much more than that. When he had held her, felt her heart beating against his, he had been sure she felt the same way.

Then he had asked her out, and she had said yes. He could hardly believe his ears. Somehow, when she hadn't shown, he hadn't been surprised. Somehow, he had known it wasn't going to happen like that.

He kept walking down the street, heading vaguely for the subway, but not in any hurry. He hadn't walked a beat, like Don Flack had, but he had spent his time on the streets, usually on the other side of the shadows. He hardly noticed where he was, although he remained on close alert to the movement and people on the street with him. He had rarely been a victim, even when he was young enough to be a target; he wasn't going to start now.

When he got to the subway, he was too restless to sit, so he stood at the back of the compartment, leaning against the glass, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet and swaying with the movement of the train. He watched the tracks move away from him, and ignored the shifts and changes in the compartment behind him. People got on; others got off. His senses remained on alert, but he didn't expect anything to happen. The night he had caught the Subway Surfer case had been unusual, to say the least. His mind drifted off to the moment when Lindsay had shown up, dressed for the opera. He sometimes dreamed of that picture, just that and no more staying in his brain for a few moments after he woke up.

He shook himself; this was his stop and, if he didn't particularly want to go home, he really didn't want to ride the subway any longer tonight either. He wondered if Flack and Stella had gone home; if they had gone together. He wondered if Mac and Peyton were spending time together. He wondered if he was going to be alone forever.

"Don't know if I can wait for you, Lindsay. Don't know if I have any choice."

He walked the few blocks to his apartment, sunk in his own reflections but still aware of his surroundings. When the footsteps came up behind him, he tensed, and his hand went surreptitiously to his gun. He was only a few feet from his doorstep when a hand came down on his left arm.

In a breath, he had his gun out, had turned, and had his assailant under cover.

"Whoa, man! Are you tense or what?"

Danny dropped his gun hand, feeling sick to his stomach, and thumbed the safety back on. "Flack! God, Flack, you know better, man! What the fuck did you think you were doing? I could have killed you – Christ, man!" Shaking and sweating, he didn't think he'd ever come closer to pulling that trigger.

"Messer, I'm sorry. I've been waiting for you – I just didn't think." Flack ran a hand over his face too; the blank face Danny had turned on him frightened him even more than the gun which had been pointed at his chest. He had thought Messer was going to pull the trigger. Talk about seeing one's life flash in front of one's eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Is there something wrong? Is it a case? Is it …" Danny's blood, which a moment before had been screaming through his veins, slowed to a dull thump of terror at the thought that someone else had been hurt, or worse. He could smell the sharp acrid scent of the hospital in his nostrils at the very thought.

Flack could follow his thoughts as clearly as if Danny had printed them in the air between them. "No, God, no, Danny. Nothing's wrong. I just need to talk to you, that's all. I really need to talk to you, tonight."

"Oh God," Danny thought wearily, "He's come to tell me about Stella and him. What in God's name am I going to say? Congrats – glad you're alive and able to move on? Glad your heart hasn't been ripped out of your chest and used as a throw rug? Have a great life - you deserve it?" Danny took in a deep breath, and said, "Yeah, of course. Come on up."

As they walked up the stairs, he finished the thought silently, "Yeah. I'm going to say all that and more: congrats; she's great; you deserve her; have a great life. 'Cuz you do deserve that." Barely hiding his weary sigh, he led the way up the stars of his apartment building.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Friends will be friends Part 2

_When you're through with life and all hope is lost_

_Hold out your hands 'cos friends will be friends_

_Right till the end_

Stella stood in the entranceway of Lindsay's apartment block. She knew that Lindsay was off-shift – Stella was a detective, and had checked her facts before she left the restaurant. She knew Lindsay's apartment was in the front of the building, because Lindsay had told her that she loved to watch the New York street out her window. There were no lights on, though, which seemed strange at 10:00 in the evening. And Stella had rung the admittance buzzer twice so far, and there was no answer.

"Out?" Stella wondered. "I guess it's possible, but …" Stella thought back to Lindsay's tight, focused face at work. She hadn't looked as if she was contemplating a night out, at least not with any real pleasure. "I'm not giving up now," Stella said under her breath. She couldn't completely ignore a little sliver of fear just under her breastbone. She wasn't sure: perhaps she had tried so hard to convince first Mac, then Flack that there was a real problem, that she had now exaggerated her feelings into fears. However, she was a good enough cop not to underrate intuition. She really needed to get in there.

A young couple was coming up the stairs, and stopped to look at her a bit suspiciously. She smiled, but pulled out her badge just to allay their concern.

"Hi, I'm Detective Bonasera from the NYPD crime lab. Do either of you know Detective Lindsay Monroe?" At their cautious nods, she went on, "Have you seen her tonight?"

The young woman spoke up, "I live on the same floor. I guess, if you're a cop, I could let you in…?" Her voice trailed off a little uncertainly, but seemed relieved when Stella gave her trademark smile.

Once at the door, Stella hesitated a moment. She really didn't have to do this: she knew how she would feel if someone from the office took it upon themselves to check up on her when she had gone home to sleep early after weeks of over-time shifts. She had all but convinced herself she was over-reacting when she heard an unexpected sound behind the door.

All thoughts of leaving vanished, and she gave two sharp raps on the door.

"Lindsay? It's Stella. Open the door; I have to talk to you."

She waited a moment, then knocked on the door again, smiling at the young woman who had let her into the building, "Come on, Linds. I'm looking like a fool here. Let me in."

She heard the lock snap back and the chain drop and stepped inside as soon as the door slid open. She knew what she was going to find, and she didn't want to expose Lindsay to her neighbour's curious stares and whispers more than she had to.

As soon as she was through the door, she reached out and pulled the sobbing young woman into her arms. "Thank God, thank God," she kept thinking. "Thank God I didn't leave." All the while she was rubbing Lindsay's back, soothing her with soft murmurs, letting her cry. She led her into the small living room which looked over the street, and steered her to the couch. Stella pulled a blanket over Lindsay, trying to stop her shaking, and waiting for the crying to slow down. When Lindsay could breath again, Stella said, "I'm going to make you something hot to drink. Kitchen through here?"

Lindsay nodded, still shaken with the occasional sob, but made to get up off the couch to show her where things were.

"Oh no, you don't," Stella said with her firmest look. "Stay."

By the time Stella had found and made tea, Lindsay was over her sobbing fit and deeply ashamed of letting herself go in front of a colleague, especially Stella, whom she admired desperately. She took the offered mug of tea with an almost inaudible thanks, and sipped a little too quickly. The heat brought tears back into her eyes, or at least that was the excuse she intended to give.

"Okay, girl, spill." Stella was not going until she got the whole story. "Did something happen at home?"

How would she know? Lindsay wondered. She wasn't allowed to contact people at home. She shook her head, not wanting Stella to dig any deeper into that topic.

"Then is it work? Was there a case that tripped you up?" Stella's voice was deliberately matter-of-fact. If Lindsay didn't know yet that every investigator, every cop, had a few unshakeable cases, even in New York, she better learn the hard lesson right now.

Lindsay closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the couch. She shook her head again.

"Is it Danny?" Stella's voice this time was low.

Lindsay shuddered. How could she tell Stella what she had done, how she had destroyed everything? She wasn't blind or a fool. She knew that Danny was deeply unhappy, and she knew that everyone in the lab was walking around him on eggshells. She was to blame, and somehow she had to make it right. The fact that no one else seemed to blame her made it even more her fault, somehow.

With a sigh, she reached over, grabbed a piece of paper off the coffee table, and handed it to Stella. With a quick glance, Stella read through a draft of a resignation letter. She didn't even bother with the careful sentences, outlining Lindsay's supposed "change in career goals" which was leading her to accept a position with another crime lab in, Stella was surprised to notice, Toronto, Canada.

"Is this real? This job in Canada?" She was careful to keep her voice perfectly uninflected. She didn't want to set off any emotional reaction in her suspect, at least not yet.

Lindsay nodded, her eyes closed again. "I've been asked. Haven't accepted yet."

Stella sat back, blew on her tea and took a sip. Then she sat up again and crashed her mug on the coffee table, soaking the draft letter she had set back down a moment before, and swearing under her breath.

Lindsay jumped, but then sat back. She deserved whatever crap Stella dished out. She rushed to speak before Stella could tear into her.

"It's better this way, Stel. I don't belong here, not really…" Lindsay's voice gave out again, and Stella turned on the couch and gripped the woman's hands in hers, holding on tightly.

"Listen to me. Just listen to me, Lindsay Monroe. We've lost Aiden, nearly lost Don, and are losing Danny every day, little by little. If you leave now, we can't fix any of that. You belong here. You're part of the team. We love you." With each impassioned statement, Stella shook Lindsay's hands, slack in hers until finally Lindsay turned them and gripped her hands back.

Her eyes were still filled with tears, but her warm smile moved, a little shakily over her face. "I've never been yelled at before while someone told me she loved me."

"Well," Stella said, a bit sheepishly, "Sometimes it takes a little noise to break through. Now," she sat back, curling her legs up under her on the couch, but keeping their hands loosely clasped, "Tell me what's been happening, and don't leave out any details."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Another Brick in the Wall

_All in all it's just another brick in the wall,_

_All in all you're just another brick in the wall._

Danny led Flack to his apartment, tossed his keys into the bowl on top of the TV, and grabbed a couple of beers from the kitchen. By the time he was back in the living room, Flack was slumped on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, tie loosened, head tipped back. He accepted the beer and sighed after the first long pull.

Danny looked at him carefully. He had only been back at work a few weeks, and Danny could see that the long hours were once again taking a toll. For a moment, Danny wondered what it would be like to have friends who were bank clerks or video equipment salesmen: people whose faces you did not spend every day searching for signs of exhaustion and despair. No, he realized with a shake of his head, he couldn't even imagine it.

Flack opened his eyes self-consciously. He could feel Danny staring, and knew he'd better get on with this, or he'd end up just falling asleep right here on the couch. He'd slept in worse places, but he'd rather go home to a proper bed. "Well," he thought, with a gleam of humour, "let's try this 'talking' thing."

"So," he said, "What's going on with you."

Danny looked up in surprise. As soon as Flack had opened his eyes, Danny had looked away, and got his little "great – congrats – yadda-yadda" speech in order. He hadn't been prepared for a question about himself.

"Oh, you know," he shrugged. "Work is pretty intense, so I'm spending a lot of time there. Then I'm still going to see Louie whenever I can …"

"Yeah, I know that. I meant what's really going on with you, Danny?"

Flack never called him Danny: it was always Messer when it wasn't something ruder. Danny closed his eyes against the need to just let all the pain and anger come pouring out. No way was that going to happen.

"Hey, you tell me?" Danny decided he better turn this around. "Where were you for dinner tonight?" He grinned as the detective flushed. "A little hot under the collar, there, Flack?"

Flack swore under his breath. He looked straight into Danny' face and said quietly, "Stella and me, we've been getting close. I'd like us to get closer."

"There," thought Danny, "That's what he came for. Now do the nice thing, and he'll leave." He opened his mouth, but didn't get the first words of congratulations out before Flack continued.

"Sort of like you and Lindsay before the undercover. What happened?"

Danny took a long pull at his beer, before setting it down and starting to pace around his small living room. "I don't really want to talk about this."

Flack nodded, "I know."

Danny relaxed fractionally.

"So what happened?" Flack was using his interrogation voice, and Danny recognized the implacability with which Flack could continue to pick away at a suspect. As much as Danny did not appreciate being put in this position, he knew Flack well enough to give him something. Otherwise he may never get him out the apartment.

"Okay, short answer, and that's all you get, right? I asked her out – she stood me up – I asked her why – she says she likes me but she needs to be alone right now." He waited a moment, clearing his throat before adding the killer, "She says it's not me."

Flack just closed his eyes. The room was silent for a few minutes. Finally Danny couldn't stand it; he moved to the window and looked out into the quiet street. "I don't know what happened. It was all good – we got along. Then she went in on that stupid undercover, and I had to sit in the van. I just sat there, Flack, while that bastard pointed a gun in her face. I just sat there while she fought for her life. And she won." Flack wondered if Danny could hear the pride in his own voice. "While I just sat there."

"You did what you had to do, Danny. So did Lindsay. She's trained for this too, you know."

Danny shrugged a shoulder impatiently. Of course he knew that. What difference did that make?

"When I went into that room, and it was filled with smoke, and I could hear people screaming, it all just faded away. All I could see, all I could think was Lindsay. When I found her, I didn't know if I could ever let her go again. Then she pulled away from me, and she started processing the scene." Danny's voice was full of an odd mixture of grief and pride.

Flack choked out a laugh. "How typically Lindsay was that?" he thought with a grimace. Always has to be one of the big boys, getting on with the job.

"She said she likes you, though?" He cringed at how high-school that sounded, but went on. "It's been obvious for months, you two. So what's in the way? What else did she say?"

Danny leaned his head against the cold window and repeated her exact words: they were burned into his memory. Flack nodded thoughtfully.

"So something she has to work out, something she thought she had put behind her? Messer," he waited until Danny turned and looked at his, leaning against the wall in his customary slouch, "Have you ever thought of running Monroe, checking out her story?"


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Thanks so much to all the reviewers – that feels really good! (I'm a fanfic virgin.) I'm posting the next 6 chapters._

_Thanks to contributors like Jezzmin, CSIFreak11, spamhead2005, pinkforensics, and especially sugah66. I have found much inspiration from the clever beautiful videos posted. _

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Chapter 13: Dreaming

_Imagine something of your very own_

_Something you can have and hold._

_I'd build a road in gold just to have some dreaming._

_Dreaming is free._

Lindsay swam to the surface of sleep, murmuring, "Danny." The sound of her voice woke her all the way, and she rolled over in bed, groaning. Why would she dream of Danny that way? She'd closed that door and locked it. In spite of that, though, she could still feel his arms around her, feel the heat of his breath on her mouth.

"Stop it! Stop it! Closed and ended. You can't do this." Lindsay threw herself out of the bed and paced across the floor. "Make coffee; have a shower; get on with your day; get on with your life! No Messer!"

She walked into the kitchen and jumped a few feet when Stella turned around, "Coffee, Linds?"

Lindsay stared at her for a few moments, then felt the evening before slowly seep back into her consciousness.

"Oh, Stella. Um… how did you sleep?" Lindsay tried to carry this off with a modicum of dignity, but she could hear her own voice still echoing from the other room.

Stella tried unsuccessfully to smother a snicker, but lost it when Lindsay glared at her, and burst out laughing. Then she reached over and casually hugged the younger woman, squeezing tightly for just a moment, before leading her to the kitchen table.

"Look," she gestured proudly, with a secret fond grin. "Croissants and coffee!"

"Where did this come from?" She looked at Stella, still wearing the shorts and t-shirt she'd borrowed from Lindsay's wardrobe when they had finally had stopped talking early in the morning. Her eyes opened wide, "You didn't go out like that, did you?"

Stella laughed again, "No, Flack dropped them off this morning. He was on his way to work and stopped by." Her eyes went soft, as she bit into a warm sweet croissant.

Lindsay stopped with her croissant almost at her open mouth. "Um … Stel?"

"Yeah?" Stella's eyes had been closed with pleasure, but snapped open at the accusatory tone.

"Exactly HOW did Don Flack know that you were here? And how does he know that you like croissants – no, LOVE croissants more than life itself in the morning? And WHY are you blushing?" Lindsay's eyes went wide, and she sighed, "Ohhhh, Stella!" Then she smacked her friend on the arm.

"Hey, what was that for?" Stella was now bluffing as well as blushing.

"Why didn't you TELL me? What's going on with you two? Tell – tell!" Lindsay was practically begging.

Stella looked at the eager face and smiled. If this was all it took to distract Lindsay from the conversation last night, she was willing to dish a little. Besides, she wanted to hear herself say it out loud, and see how weird it felt.

"Flack knew I was here because I texted him last night to let him know. And he knew I was coming here last night because he dropped me off. And he knew I like – okay, LOVE – croissants because …" she paused for a moment, and grinned at Lindsay's threatening hand. "We had dinner together last night."

"Oh my GOD!" All thoughts of last night's conversation flew out of Lindsay's head. "What was it like? Was it amazing? Where did you eat?" The questions just tumbled out.

"Whoa!" Stella put up a hand, laughing. "I'll tell you everything once you've answered two questions for me."

In a flash, the conversation returned to Lindsay. She shifted a little uncomfortably. She still hadn't told Stella everything, although she had confessed her betrayal of Danny. After Stella had forgiven her, the evening had become a bit blurred – the bottle of wine they had broken out may have had something to do with that! "Okay," she said cautiously.

Stella sat forward, and grabbed Lindsay's hand. "Are you still thinking of going to Toronto?"

Lindsay closed her eyes, but didn't pull her hand away. "I don't know. Maybe not. It's just … it seems like such a sensible solution." She looked up then, and saw the compassion in Stella's face.

"Easy, Lindsay, not sensible. You know that, don't you?" When Lindsay nodded, Stella continued, "I'll wait for the rest of the story, Lindsay. We'll all wait until you can tell us. You don't owe us a thing, not even Danny." Stella tightened her hands as Lindsay shivered. "But don't run away from us, either. We won't let you go without a fight."

She sat back and bit into her croissant, waiting for Lindsay's tears to stop. After a few minutes, she shook her head and said, "Okay, second question."

Lindsay gave a watery little snort, wiping her face with her hands. "What?"

"So, exactly how hot was the dream?"


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Love Hurts

_Love hurts, love scars,_

_Love wounds, and marks,_

_Any heart, not tough,_

_Or strong, enough_

_To take a lot of pain…_

Danny woke up with a headache. Which was weird, he thought, seeing as he hadn't even finished his beer last night, pouring it down the sink after Flack had left. He'd thought about it; crawling into a bottle usually had a sort of appeal to it when life was just too complicated.

However, Danny had also spent most of his life around people who sort of forgot to climb back out of that bottle, and he had no intention of joining them. So, he'd watched TV, had drunk too much coffee, and then, shamefacedly, had booted up his computer and googled Lindsay Monroe.

He'd been honestly shocked when Flack had made the suggestion, had protested self-righteously that it was wrong to do that, a simple abuse of Lindsay's trust.

"She'd tell me if she could, Flack. I have to believe that. Even if she doesn't … feel about me the way I feel about her," Danny had to swallow bile when he said that out loud, "she wouldn't keep something really important from me unless she had to."

Flack looked up at him seriously; Danny was still standing by the window, his face in shadow, but Flack had heard the shaking in his voice. For the first time, Flack felt a sharp slice of anger at Lindsay. Dammit, couldn't she have just left him alone? The last thing Messer needed right now was more turmoil. Then he thought of Lindsay's open face, and he, like Danny, had to believe that she had not meant for any of this to happen.

"Look, man, you're fading out here. You better get home and sleep."

"Yeah, I'm on shift in the morning, and I have an appointment before that," Flack grinned a little at the thought. "But listen, Messer, anything. You need to talk, or drink, or just hang out, let me know, okay? None of us are going away."

He didn't know what else to say. He thought he'd done pretty good at this talking thing so far tonight, first with Stella and then with Danny.

He grinned as he thought of the moment in the car as he dropped Stella off at Lindsay's for The Ambush: Part Two. When he had leaned over to open the door for her, Stella had turned to him, and placed her hands on either side of his face.

"You are a good friend, Don Flack. Thanks." Then she had kissed his cheek before sliding out the door and running up the stairs.

Danny looked at him a bit strangely; Flack had phased out there for a moment, and Danny was trying to resign himself to making up the couch when Flack stood up, and grabbed his jacket.

"Be careful going home, Flack."

"Yeah, yeah, Mom. Do you want me to call you when I get in?" The customary to-and-fro had both men sighing with relief. With any luck this whole weird evening would just not be mentioned again.

Still, after Danny had locked the door behind Flack, he had to admit that he didn't feel quite as miserable as he had earlier that day. He also, with a sigh, had to admit that he was completely unable to contemplate sleep, so had begun his night of coffee, TV and, eventually, the guilty foray into searching out information on Lindsay Monroe.

Now it was morning, and he was going to have to deal with what he had found. It wasn't easy. He felt like slime for researching her anyway, and what he had found made him profoundly uncomfortable. He didn't know what to do next, or how to deal with it. He felt that Lindsay should have a chance to explain, but then she would know he had been checking.

He wanted to talk to Mac and see what he knew, but just the thought of Mac's reaction to Danny's prying made him feel sick to his stomach. The term "straight arrow" had been coined to refer to men like Mac, men who would not even think of stepping over that invisible line of what could be done and what could never be done. Danny had spent time on the other side of Mac's line; he never wanted to be there again.

As he showered and changed for work, Danny kept struggling. He had done something unethical, if not precisely immoral. After all, people googled others all the time. It shouldn't be a big deal; it wasn't as if he'd even used his undoubted computer skills to do a deep search. All he had done was the bare minimum. So why did he feel so sick at the thought of facing Lindsay, of spending a day with her with those questions burning in his brain?

"I guess Father Fitz was right," he said out loud to his reflection in the mirror, "Sometimes sin is its own punishment."

Then he looked at a picture he had on his wall, a casual snapshot which had been taken in the lab just after Lindsay had joined the team. There she was, standing between Hawkes and Stella, smiling that wide, open "got-nothing-to-hide" smile that had first captured his imagination.

"Not true, though, is it Linds? You're hiding something. Otherwise, why would there be absolutely no information about you until after 2003?"

Because that's what he had found in his search: nothing. No matter how he changed up the search parameters, Lindsay Monroe virtually did not exist until she showed up in the tiger cage at the New York Zoo.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Somebody to Love

_Oh Lord_

_Somebody - somebody_

_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

_Got no feel, I got no rhythm_

_I just keep losing my beat_

_I'm ok, I'm alright_

_Ain't gonna face no defeat_

They hadn't planned to, but when they both came down the stationhouse stairs at the same time, off-shift at the same time, it made sense to go grab dinner together. The fact that they had shared at least one meal every day for the past three days was not mentioned. After all, people have to eat, don't they? Why not share with a friend?

Stella couldn't help but wonder about the friend part, though. She had enhanced the romance a little when she was telling Lindsay about the first "date" to try to break through Lindsay's polished and diamond-hard defenses. But she couldn't help listening to her own doubts – even during that first meal, Flack had wanted something from her, just like Frankie had, just like Mac always did. The truth was, Stella admitted, she didn't trust people easily.

"Why do you have to complicate matters so much, Stel?" she scolded herself. "He's fun, kind, thoughtful, and he seems to want to spend time with you. Don't put anything in the way of that just for the sake of a little drama. Play this out – see where it goes."

She tucked her hands into her pockets and concentrated on trying to keep up with Flack's long legs. As they turned the corner, she caught a glimpse of Mac opening his car door to let Peyton in, and she waited for the familiar tug of confused emotion. Mac was her friend. So had Claire been, the way a loving spouse became a satellite to office relationships. Stella had spent birthdays, Christmas parties, and more formal occasions with Mac and Claire. She had admired Claire's cool, calm demeanour, while Claire had watched some of Stella's spectacular bursts of rage in horrified amusement. They had been "ladies who lunched" a few times, had shopped for Christmas gifts, and had even spent an out-of-town weekend together when Stella's "guy-of-the-moment" had scored a cabin in the Adirondacks. If asked, Stella would have put Claire unhesitatingly in the small, almost exclusive group of her true friends.

And yet, Stella realized with a start, she had always envied Claire: that calm certainty that life was good, that assurance that things would work out. She had envied her life and her husband.

"What does that make me?" Stella wondered a little frantically. She moved a little closer to the comforting, solid bulk of Flack, who looked down at her with a big grin and reached out to open the door of the restaurant they had agreed on. She looked at him for a moment.

"Leave it, idiot. Whoever you were five years ago, it's time to move on. Kick back."

As always, they talked. She couldn't believe how easy it was to be herself with Flack. Of course, he'd known her a long time, so they had lots, one would think, to talk about. But they rarely talked about work, and only sometimes about their co-workers. Instead, they'd talk about movies, art, politics, even religion, agreeing on hardly anything, but usually working their way around to a meeting place on practically everything. Time seemed to fly by when they were together. This week they'd shown up late after lunch one day and closed out two restaurants.

This night was no different: they were actually asked to leave this restaurant as the server needed to catch a ride home from a cook, and the kitchen had been closed for an hour. They stood outside, still talking, when Flack casually asked if she had talked to Danny at all.

Stella sighed. Nothing had changed in the lab. She and Flack had filled each other in on their respective conversations, but two more stubborn people did not exist. Lindsay was not prepared to budge, and Danny was not prepared to push, and that was the end of that story.

"The only good thing is that Mac is finally starting to take notice," Stella snapped Mac's name as if she'd be happy to take a bite out of him. Flack's eyebrows rose. Stella's friendship with Mac was a long-established fact; she rarely let her irritation with her boss show openly, although everyone had heard the rumours of the titanic fights she had brought into Mac's office when she felt justified.

"Something up, Stel?" He couldn't help it; he ran his hand through her long curls.

She shrugged, and felt a little tingle as he touched her. "You know that shower of shit we were talking about a few weeks ago."

Flack grimaced but nodded.

"I'm still waiting."

He reached for her hand. "But not alone."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Love of My Life

_Love of my life,_

_You hurt me,_

_You've broken my heart,_

_Now you leave me_

The lab was quiet. Danny concentrated fiercely on the job at hand. A suspect had gone through a plate glass window and then disappeared. There were probably prints and blood on the shattered glass. Danny had spent hours piecing together the glass so he could dust it for prints and blood spatter against an unidentified body in the morgue. It was painstaking, tedious, and potentially unnecessary work that may bring them no closer to resolving the case.

Still, Mac had given Danny the assignment, and that was all he needed to know at the moment. Besides, it kept him from thinking or feeling. If he thought anymore about anything outside of the job right now, he might just shatter into shards as thin and scattered as the ones he was sifting through so carefully.

He was pulling a double shift; Mac had approved it after he had seen how far Danny had got with his glass puzzle. If he had stopped at the end of his shift, Danny would have lost the "picture" of the glass he had built up in his head. Now, nearing the end of another eight hour shift, his arms and back ached from leaning over the table, and his eyes felt as if tiny pieces of glass had worked their way under his safety glasses. He was shaking, but he was finished.

Lindsay came into the lab and leaned over his hunched shoulder to look at the patterns outlined by the Luminol and fingerprint powder. Every detail had come up.

"Danny, that's incredible! I can't believe you got it all together. You can see every detail – it's like watching a movie of the guy going through the glass."

Danny went completely still as she leaned against his chair. He could feel her heat, smell her scent, feel her breath on his cheek. If he moved one way, she'd be in his arms. He closed his eyes and concentrated on controlling his breathing. Then, achingly slowly, he stood up, turning away from her, and moved to the other side of the table.

"I've finished the glass, but it needs to be photographed, and the paperwork needs to be logged.." his voice trailed off in exhaustion as he ran his hand through his hair.

Lindsay's heart ached when he withdrew so obviously, but she tried to forget her own feelings and focus on him. "You look awful. Book out, and I'll finish up."

He looked at her for the first time, she thought, in weeks, and his smile lit his face. "Thanks. I owe you one. See you at shift change."

It didn't take much, did it, to make her happy? One little smile and she was ready to melt, or at least to do his paperwork. Lindsay could not help the little rising of her heart. That was a touch of the old Danny back, at least!

She went to the computer in her office to post the results, and could not stop herself from glancing over at Danny's unnaturally tidy space. Since their – she didn't know what to call it – conversation, she supposed, Danny had hardly spent any time in here. He'd drift in, and drift out again if she didn't seem totally pre-occupied with whatever task she had at hand.

"So much for being there for me. If you could get any farther away from me, I'd have to call long-distance to give you my results," she muttered viciously, if unfairly.

She closed her eyes and indulged in a small daydream. She imagined Danny moving towards instead of away from her, then holding, her, as he had in the aftermath of the flash bomb. He had reached for her, held her as if she were the most precious thing in his life. And she, instead of pulling away, had responded with all the desperation she was capable of, holding on to him convulsively, her one stable point in an uncertain universe.

She had in pulled away the instant she had felt him shift from protection to something more urgent. She had done what she always did – returned to the job. It was the job which had always made sense, had always held her together. She didn't need a man to keep her steady. She could only rely on herself and the evidence.

But her arms ached every time she saw him. She wanted to put them around him and hold on until she could bring that light back into his eyes. She really couldn't have arrived in his life at a worse time: Aiden, Louie, and Lindsay herself had been that triple play which seemed destined to take Danny out of the game. How could she learn to live with that?

Lindsay took the letter from the Crime Scene Unit in Toronto out of her desk one more time. It was dated only a few weeks ago, but its dirty crumpled state proved that it had been read and read again. She looked down on it, hardly needing to look at it to remember the terse, official phrases, praising her experience and asking her to share her knowledge. She was being offered a chance to do something significant, unique: to make what had happened back in Montana stand for something, to make that time at least pay for something. So why wasn't she jumping at it?

What chance did she have here?


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: You're My Best Friend

_You're the best friend_

_that I ever had_

_I've been with you such a long time_

_You're my sunshine_

Mac looked out of his office in the lab, a little uncomfortable at having a long-standing belief over-turned. A quiet lab was not necessarily a better one, he was discovering. Oh, it was as efficient as ever, but there was a feeling in the lab that he didn't like. A few weeks ago, it had felt as a fire was about the start; now it felt heavy and somehow damp, as if a fog of introspection and misery was smothering everyone.

Mac was not, contrary to popular belief, an ice-water-in-the-veins type of guy. He may be reserved, but he cared deeply for the people under his command. He watched and noticed more than anyone thought. He spent a lot of time worrying about the mental well-being of his team; no one knew better than he the damaging effect of too much horror and too little time to process it.

He had watched with a sort of bemused affection the growing relationship between his Stella and Don Flack, the young detective whose life he had saved. That act had somewhat absolved a load of guilt he had carried since Beirut, when one of his men had died in his arms. His time in the Marines had taught him many things, but it had never reconciled his agony over lives unnecessarily wasted.

That was another long-standing but unexamined belief, wasn't it – that she was his Stella. And yet, even Claire had always referred to her that way. One of his first recruits, one of his first picks for his new team, one of his first choices for any investigation. He knew every expression on her face, could read her from across the lab. Her contradictions, from ice-cold scientist to flaming fury in moments, were part of what Mac enjoyed about her most. She complemented him, and, since that day when his world collapsed like the Twin Towers, she and the job had become the solid centre of his life. She had kept him sane.

He had been shocked, almost revolted when Peyton, in their first fight a week or so ago, had brought up Stella's name. It was like being accused of incest. Yes, Stella was beautiful; so was Flack in his way. It didn't mean Mac wanted to sleep with either of them. Stella had stuck by him through everything the past several years. He valued her friendship; he valued her. He had told Peyton in freezing tones that his relationship with Stella was not open to discussion.

So, Stella and Flack. They may think they were being subtle, but the office grapevine got a hold of their first date and had run hot ever since. Mac tested his feelings and was relieved to see that he had not lied to Peyton. He was happy for Stella (as he had not been when Frankie had entered her life, even before his violent proclivities had been known), and for Don. They deserved each other.

A bigger patch of fog caught his eye: in one of the nearby labs, Lindsay was explaining her results to Danny, who was back on shift early after pulling a double, Mac noted with a frown. They stood with nearly the entire width of the lab space between them, and Mac would swear, if there were anyone there to listen, they were speaking to each other from a much greater distance than the physical one. Maybe Stella was right. Maybe his customary stance of non-involvement was not going to work this time.

Mac wandered out to the office space behind the lab, planning to leave Lindsay a note to come see him before her shift was over. When he walked into the office she shared with Danny, he looked around in surprise. Messer's side of the room usually looked like a bomb had gone off, in contrast to Lindsay's obsessive tidiness. Yet today, Danny's side of the room looked barely inhabited except for a jacket hung over the back of the chair, while Lindsay's desk was uncharacteristically covered in papers.

He glanced idly at the top one, noting its disheveled state, another oddity given Lindsay's tidy nature. He didn't mean to read it, but even the cursory glace he gave was enough to set him back on his heels. Toronto was offering his CSI a job? And Lindsay was obviously considering it; the condition of the letter told him that.

He sighed and left a note for Lindsay, "Monroe, my office, before end of shift."

"Okay, Stella, I guess you were right." The thought of the coming discussion gave him a headache. There better not be tears.

When Lindsay walked into the office, the first thing she saw was Mac's note. The second thing she saw was the Toronto letter she had carelessly left out on her desk. She went so white Danny actually grabbed her arm, afraid she was going to faint again.

"Whoa, you okay there, Montana?" His voice roughened as she steadied herself and pushed away from him.

"Yeah – called down to the office. Startled me, I guess." She grabbed the note and the incriminating letter in one hand, trying to keep Danny from asking any questions, and walked out, leaving him cold.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Honesty

_Honesty is such a lonely word._

_Everyone is so untrue._

_Honesty is hardly ever heard._

_And mostly what I need from you._

"Come in, Detective Monroe," Mac called out as Lindsay knocked on the door. "Take a seat."

He came around to the front of the desk and leaned against it. This wasn't meant to be an interrogation, but he could tell from Lindsay's face that she was waiting for a lecture, presumably the one on loyalty and teamwork.

"How are you doing, Lindsay?" His deep voice was quiet, but seemed to startle her nonetheless.

She looked up at him with those deep brown eyes that had so caught Danny Messer, and Mac had to admit, to which even he wasn't immune. Her voice was flat and a little breathless when she answered, "I'm fine, sir."

Mac lifted an eyebrow. Hadn't they gone through this already?

Lindsay flushed as the mocking voice of Messer all those months ago flashed in her memory, "Make sure you call him sir." She looked away from Mac.

He reached out and touched her chin, encouraging her to look at him. "Come on, Linds. What's up?" After a moment's silence, during which Lindsay struggled to put her voice to use, he continued, "You know I saw the letter from Toronto. Did you contact them?"

Lindsay glared up at him, and he hid a smile. Messer was right; she was pretty easy to rile up.

"Of course not! You know how much I wanted to come and work with you, how much I wanted to be in New York. I worked for this, fought for this…" Her voice died away.

"Then why not toss the letter? You haven't answered it yet, have you?" He knew she hadn't; the fact it had been read and re-read told him that. Lindsay's paperwork was always done on time and meticulously (unlike some CSIs he could name). The state of the letter had alerted him to Lindsay's own state.

Lindsay closed her eyes again. Why was everybody being so nice about this? "No, I haven't answered it. It's a good chance, and a fresh start. I guess I haven't been able to let go of the idea that it may be the right thing."

"Have you talked to anyone?" He meant Danny.

"Just Stella." Had he not been paying attention to what was going on? She could hardly get Danny to stay in the room long enough to share their results, much less to actually talk about anything significant.

"I bet I know her response!" Mac chuckled dryly. "She hardly admits there are any places in the States outside of New York, much less places out of the country!"

Lindsay smiled, but felt compelled to defend Stella, who had been oddly, unexpectedly, fiercely supportive. "She said it might be the easy decision, but not the right one."

"What do you think?" More and more often these days, Stella was surprising Mac with her leadership on the team. Perhaps he needed to re-think a few career paths.

Lindsay laughed a little bitterly. "Mac, I had no idea you had a degree in head-shrinkology. You sound just like the last one I was sent to in Montana. I don't know what I think. And before you ask: How do I feel? Angry, confused, tired … mostly tired."

Of what?" He was not going to let this go now.

"Of me. Of this. Of waiting for everything to come smashing down again. It is so much easier to just pack up and go, leave everything behind me. Do you know how many boxes I moved from Montana, Mac?"

He shook his head.

"One. One box with my mother's pictures in it. Everything else I own, I bought in New York. There was nothing to bring with me." She choked a little.

"If I move to Toronto, I'd need a moving van. I have furniture. I have posters of shows I've gone to, clothes I've bought, books, music. I have pictures of … friends, real friends. I have …" a stupid plush toy Danny had won for her at the ball throw on Coney Island when he'd coaxed her out one summer evening. A programme from the opera she had almost seen at the Met. Another from a Mets game she had seen with Hawkes, Stella, Flack and Danny. "Souvenirs. I have remembrances. Not memories, like I do from Montana."

"Dammit," thought Mac as he passed her a tissue. "Tears."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Daniel

_Daniel my brother you are older than me_

_Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won't heal?_

_Your eyes are blind, but you see more than I_

_Daniel, you're a star_ _in the face of the sky._

"Messer! Hey, wait up!" Danny turned as Flack moved swiftly up the sidewalk behind him.

"What's up? I'm off-shift," Danny warned.

"Yeah, keep your pants on. So am I. Let's grab a beer, 'kay?"

"So, Stella stand you up?" The joke was only a little painful. Danny figured he'd have to get over it some time.

Flack blinked. "What? Hey, does everyone know?"

Danny smothered a grin. "Pretty sure, yeah. You've hardly been quiet about it, have you?" He looked at Flack's suddenly worried face. "Why? Everything okay?

"Yeah, yeah. It's all good. It's just …" Flack's voice dropped as they walked in the local bar, which was, of course, filled with cops, "Do you think Mac knows?"

Danny stifled his laughter, and answered in a low, serious tone, "I don't know, but I heard a rumour he's been checking out that mothering big bow and arrow from that art gallery killing a couple of months ago. Wonder why?" He nearly fell over laughing at the look of horror on Flack's face, as the detective remembered the lovers' bodies pierced at the crucial moment by the arrow. He picked up the beer that had been put in front of him and tried unsuccessfully to stop laughing by taking a swallow of beer.

Flack's face began to resume its natural colour when he realized it was just a joke, and swigged a healthy shot of his own brew before cracking a grin. "Ha, ha, Messer – very funny. Just wait; I'll get you."

Danny shrugged – there wasn't much Flack could do to him. "My life's an open book, man."

Flack sat back in the booth he'd steered Danny to when they'd come in. It was cards-on-the-table time, he figured. He'd sort of promised Stella it was, anyway.

"So who isn't an open book?"

Danny shifted in his seat, but just lifted an eyebrow in response.

"Monroe. Did you run her?"

It was Danny's turn to flush. His feelings about doing a search on Lindsay Monroe had not changed, but they hadn't kept him from digging a little harder, either. What else was he supposed to do when he couldn't sleep?

"I told you it was a breach of trust, Flack."

"Yeah. So you didn't find anything either, huh?" Flack took a sip of beer and signaled a server. "You want pizza?"

Danny sighed, but nodded. If this was going to go the way he thought it was, he was going to need food to get him through.

"Okay, so I couldn't hack into departmental records, obviously," Flack looked inquisitively at Danny, who mimed shock and dismay at the very thought. "I was going to try to contact Bozeman, and see if I could find a connection, but I thought that might send up too many red flags."

Danny closed his eyes in relief. The problem with being a detective, and having friends that were detectives, is that curiosity not only killed the cat, but everyone around would immediately start to investigate the COD and start building theories about why and what and how until the cat died all over again.

"I couldn't find out anything before about 2005, about 10 months before she showed up here. She was a speaker at a conference in California, speaking about forensic practices in communities without extensive lad equipment. She managed to pull a decent crowd – about 200 registrants. After that, she shows up mostly in New York papers in connection with cases we know about. Before that…"

"Nothing," Danny admitted. "So that means she changed her name before coming here. Which means something bad enough to have her feeling threatened must have happened. Which means that …" he held up a hand as Flack tried to interrupt, "We are going to respect her privacy here, Flack. I mean it. Say she's in a protection programme. Are you prepared to put her danger?"

"Protection, huh? Yeah, I thought of that. But let's face, man; people in protective custody don't become cops in New York. They go off to become boutique owners in Maine somewhere. No, there's got to be something else. Maybe she's on the run from an abusive ex?" Flack tried to keep a casual look at Danny's face as he took a bite of still bubbling pizza, then swallowed some beer to cool his tongue.

Danny, though, remained impassive at the comment. "You know, I thought about that." Perhaps a little too obsessively, he admitted privately. "But she doesn't act like a woman who's been abused." He looked Flack in the eyes. "You know; she doesn't pull away from a touch, or shrink when you get too close." He knew he was trusting Flack with a lot more information than he had planned to, but he had to head him off investigating Lindsay any further. "She's comfortable around men. When I carried her across the roof," and the ever-busy rumour mill had had a ball with that one, "She didn't tense up. And when we're in the lab, she doesn't try to avoid accidentally touching someone." At least, she hadn't until he had been so monumentally stupid as to push for more than she wanted. He cleared his throat uneasily.

"Yeah, okay, I can see that. But it would fit, don't you think? She'd change her name, move away?"

"Have you ever seen her tackle a suspect, Flack? She could take you down. She may be little, but damn she is one tough chick."

Flack almost laughed at the pained pride in Messer's voice again. This was just killing the tough, take-care-of-business Staten Island boy. When the lady in your life can out-think, out-draw, and even out-asskick you, it was a little bruising to the old male ego. Flack's grin deepened as he thought of his own tough chick, who, he had to admit, could beat him at most things on most days too. So why didn't it bother him?

Danny looked at his buddy's grin and knew that Flack was off in pink-cloud-land. He breathed a sigh of relief; at least this conversation was over for now. He just had to find a way to keep Flack distracted. Maybe Stella would help him there. She seemed to be pretty good at keeping Flack off kilter.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Believe it or not, I wrote this scene before watching "Hung Out to Dry".

Chapter 20: Dreamweaver

_Ooh dream weaver_

_I believe you can get me through the night_

_Ooh dream weaver_

_I believe we can reach the morning light_

_Fly me high through the starry skies_

_Maybe to an astral plane_

_Cross the highways of fantasy_

_Help me to forget today's pain_

Lindsay walked out of Mac's office feeling drained. The last thing he said before she walked out the door was, "Talk to him, Lindsay. If he's your friend, you have to trust him. And if you can't, you'd better find out now."

Knowing Danny was out of the building by now, she risked going to the locker room and grabbing a change of clothes and her toiletries for a shower. She stood under the boiling hot shower and sobbed as hard as she could, a trick learned in a house full of men impatient with female emotions. When she was finished, she felt clean and cleaned out. She walked out of the shower area, rubbing her hair dry.

"I'm going to wash that man right outta my hair…" caroled Stella, coming up behind Lindsay and making her jump. Never one to miss a song cue, Lindsay chimed in with the next line of melody and they shimmied a little impromptu two-step through the locker room as they finished it off.

"God, I haven't done that in a while! Yay, high school musicals!" Stella laughed. "Were you Nellie?"

"Yeah, my last year. What about you?"

"No way! I was a sailor."

Lindsay laughed in surprise, "Not a nurse?"

"All-girls school and I was tall," Stella's explanation was clipped, but all Lindsay needed. She had heard rumours about Stella's unhappy childhood, and knew that it was not a topic for discussion.

"Better songs for the guys, anyway," she offered, and Stella shot her a laughing nod.

"Hey, come have something to eat with me," she offered.

"I should go home."

"No, you shouldn't. Come on, Lindsay. I've gotten used to having someone to share with. I eat too fast when I'm on my own."

"Where's Don tonight?" Lindsay said it casually, but with a little flicker of interest. Gossip was prime currency in the lab, and she was severely in the red, as she didn't usually have much to pass on.

Stella's face lit up. "I kicked him off to play with his friends. I think he and Danny were going to have a beer, which will lead to pizza, which will lead to more beer, if I know them. And I do. So I'm foot-loose tonight. Are you going to be responsible for letting me run free and terrorize New York?"

"Oh, I'd hate to have that on my conscience! Okay, where are we going?"

"I am craving mu hsu pork. Don hates Chinese – the food, not the people. There's a great restaurant just down the street. Superior wor wonton soup, lettuce wraps, egg rolls… I just have to grab something from my office before we go."

"I'm sold! I'll wait for you here."

As Stella made her way through the lab, she heard a call go out, "Officers in pursuit, suspect is heading for the roof." She automatically logged the address in her head, and realized it was just around the corner from the station itself; in fact it was the bar cops spent most of their off-hours at. More significantly, though, she recognized the first voice as Flack's. What were they doing pursuing a suspect? They were supposed to be floating in beer and pizza.

Her heart stuttered as she heard Danny's voice, "Stop, you idiot! Flack, go the other way – he's heading across the rooftops. Stop!"

Then her heart stopped all together as she heard Flack gleefully whoop, "Messer, you madman!" There was a pause; she could hear people running, movement, then Flack's voice: "Messer! Messer? Shit! Call a bus! Officer down! Officer down! Dammit, Messer! DANNY!" Stella was running almost before she heard the scream.

Lindsay had been standing at the window, looking out at the skyline Danny had shown her so proudly. She heard the whistles, the running feet, coming from the bar around the corner. She caught a glimpse of a man running, leaping to catch a fire escape ladder, then two other men in close pursuit. The figures swarmed up the ladder; the first slight, obviously young one managing to stay a hair's breadth in front of the one that Lindsay recognized was Danny.

As the station house was several stories higher than the buildings the men were on, she had a great view of the chase. Danny was going full out, as only he could, but the suspect was young and agile and stupid enough to try to roust a bar full of slightly lubricated cops. He wasn't going to stop if the doors of hell opened in front of him.

In fact, when the roof ran out, he hesitated for about one moment, looking over his shoulder to see Danny catching up. Lindsay was at the right angle to see him steel himself, then leap right off one roof, arms outspread to catch the one next to it. Danny didn't hesitate even that one second. Arms and legs windmilling furiously, he went straight off the roof and disappeared from Lindsay's sight.

Lindsay could hear herself screaming, but couldn't feel anything. She turned when Stella ran in from the lab and threw herself in the other woman's arms. "Danny." It was the only word Stella could understand. Lindsay collapsed, taking Stella down with her.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Anything For Love

_And I would do anything for love_

_I'd run right into hell and back_

_I would do anything for love_

_I'll never lie to you and that's a fact_

_But I'll never forget the way you feel right now—_

_Oh no--no way--_

_I would do anything for love_

_But I won't do that_

It was Mac who gathered the women up; Mac who got them to the hospital. He had seen the whole chase from a similar perspective as Lindsay, although he had also seen Danny land safely on the next roof. In fact, Danny had landed hard on the suspect, pinning him to the ground. It was only when neither of them moved that Mac had started to run, at almost the same moment Lindsay's despairing cry had ripped through the building.

"Damn, damn, damn." It was an unending litany running through Mac's head as he organized a car to take them all to the hospital, lifted Lindsay out of Stella's protective arms, helped Stella to her feet, pushed the unresponsive Lindsay to the elevators and into the waiting car. "Damn, damn, damn; not the hospital. Not again."

He didn't know how to do this again: sit by a bedside, take evidence from a broken and abused body, wait for doctors and listen to beeping machines and feel that bitter burning in his nose and throat as he waited.

The three were silent, encouraging the driver to go faster by the tension in their bodies. When they finally go to the hospital where Danny had been taken, they moved with the cold precision of a trained team, which, Mac was proud to notice, they looked like.

Flack was waiting for them on the fourth floor. He grabbed hold of Lindsay's hands, but spoke to the commander. "He's okay. Mac, he's okay. He knocked himself unconscious when he hit the kid. Knocked the kid out too, so he gets the collar." Flack's eyes lit up. "You should have seen it, man. He FLEW. I've never seen anything like it!"

Mac's response was quiet enough to stop Flack from talking, "I did see it."

Stella put a hand on his arm, "Lindsay saw it too, Don. I was just listening on the blower."

"Oh God, Lindsay. You must have been freaking out. But the docs promised he'll be okay. He broke his arm and a couple of ribs, and he'll have a hell of a headache. They're going to keep him overnight." Flack looked at Mac. "It's Doc Chase, Mac, if you want to check with him. Come on, Lindsay, I'm going to get you a cup of coffee, then we'll go see Danny, okay?" Taking her hand, he led her away, talking to her in his deep soothing voice.

"Okay, Stella. What was that about being afraid you wouldn't be there when one of them jumped?" Mac's voice was suddenly shaky. He couldn't believe it. This time it wasn't serious, but Danny had still jumped off a freaking roof. It would be Mac's job to figure out if that was suicidal, pig-headed, or just competitive. He closed his eyes; had it always been this hard?

Stella led him to a chair. "I think that is the best thing Danny could have done – well, he could have avoided hitting his head, perhaps," she qualified it when Mac opened his eyes and stared at her in disbelief.

"He has been so subdued, so passive. It's not natural for Danny. Now, jumping off a roof, stupid though that is, is natural for Danny. So maybe, it's for the best."

"Okay," Mac said slowly. "I see your point. Still, could we avoid counseling our depressed CSIs to jump off a roof? I'd hate to have this set some kind of precedent!" He stood up to find the doctor, cheered by Stella's laughter. After he saw Danny, he would go home, call Peyton, and try to recover the equilibrium he felt was his naturally. It was something he had been sorely lacking the past few months.

Although Stella and Flack tried to convince Lindsay to go home with Stella, she quietly refused to leave the hospital. Knowing how stubborn she could be, they gave up the fight quickly, just making her promise to take a taxi home to get some sleep, and to eat the food they brought her from the cafeteria. As soon as they had left, she went into Danny's room and sat beside his bed.

"You are a complete, total, absolute …" her voice gave out.

"Hero?" He countered in a hoarse, tired voice. He did not open his eyes; she could tell from the crease in his forehead that the pain meds were not working yet.

"Ass." She snapped back. "What kind of idiot jumps off a building? Did you even know what you were jumping to?"

"Well, I thought I'd just ride the kid down if he was wrong." His grin cracked through the pain.

"Idiot. You idiot, Danny." Mindful of his aching head, she kept her voice down, but could not help dumping some of her fear and anger on him. Even as she told him off, her hand was wrapped around his, and she was pouring and helping him drink water, then smoothing his pillow and adjusting his blankets. He tolerated her fussing over him; she was trying to make him feel more comfortable, after all. How could he tell her there was nothing comfortable about her body close to his, the feel of her warm hand. He refused to open his eyes, not wanting her to read anything when he was getting knocked around by both the pain and the meds.

Finally, Lindsay was finished with her lecture and her ministrations. She sat quietly for a minute. "I saw you jump, you know."

Danny thought for a moment about the proximity of the Station to the roof he had ended the chase on, and figured out where she had been standing.

"How did it look?" That grin was back in place.

"Terrifying. Stupid. Cool." She had to admit it.

"Yeah, that's pretty much how it felt."

They sat in silence for a while longer. Danny drifted off, and Lindsay watched his breathing.

"Mac's right. I have to tell him. Either I trust him or not. If he lets me down, he's hardly the first."

Danny could practically hear her thinking. He could certainly feel her strain in the steadiness of her breathing, as if she were counting each breath, and the rigidity of the arm which was lying on the bed so she could hold his hand.

"Danny, do you want to go to sleep?"

"The doc said not too, right?"

"Yes, you have to try to stay awake. Will you stay with me?"

"Tell me a story and I will." When the words formed in his head, they were just words. When they crossed his lips, he knew it was a defining moment of their relationship. What she did would shape any future they might have.

With a sigh, Lindsay gave in all the way. "Yes, all right. Are you comfortable? Here goes … Once upon a time…"


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Just the Way You Are

_I said I love you and that's forever_

_And this I promise from the heart_

_I could not love you any better_

_I love you just the way you are._

"Hey Mac," Stella turned to him in the elevator. "We're going for a drink. Come with us."

He wanted, oh how he wanted, to refuse, to just go home and get with the programme he had set out in his head. With a mental apology to Peyton, he nodded. He owed Stella something – hell, everything – and although it seemed an innocent enough offer, he could tell from her expression it was not.

On the other side of her, Flack stiffened. Damn. Drinks with the boss (and Stella's former lover? His mind could not entirely avoid that thought.) was not the relaxing evening he had planned. Of course, since that skinny punk-ass kid had run into the bar and demanded money from the till, waving a gun around as if it were a tree branch, the evening hadn't exactly gone according to plan.

Stella stifled a sigh. On one side of her, she could feel Don – tense and anxious. On the other, she could feel Mac – stressed and impatient. Okay, perhaps not the best time to do the relationship talk thing. But if not now, when? "Carpe diem, Stel. Now or never." She was pretty sure Don would have gone with never.

They did not go back to the bar where Danny and Flack's pizza was even now being tossed in the garbage (and the bill was being added to their tab – any cop bar which didn't run tabs for its unreliable customers soon went out of business). Instead, they ended up at a quieter pub, where once again Flack led the way to a booth, being careful to sit on the outside so he had a clear run if things got sticky.

The conversation started off slowly: there was a "meet-the-parents" feel to the whole thing. Once Stella asked Flack about how the chase had started, though, things began to run more smoothly. Flack was eloquent in his admiration of Danny's feat; Stella thought he sounded like a little boy describing a super hero.

"I don't think he even thought about it, Stel. He just went right over the side. I thought my heart would stop. Of course, he knows these rooftops like he knows the street. He knew that the building next to the one we were on was a little lower, but only a couple of feet away. Man, though – what a jump!"

Stella looked at the big cop sitting next to her and sighed. They really were all just little boys. "Don, he could have been killed."

Flack looked at her, obviously confused by her statement. "Well, yeah, Stella. He could have been killed when that numbnuts walked in to a bar filled with cops packing more fire power than a Marine corps. Chasing the kid was a way of keeping him from getting hurt."

Stella knew she'd lost when Mac nodded in judicious agreement. "From the angle I was watching, I could see him hit the roof. He could have gone another couple feet if he hadn't been stopped by the kid."

"And the roof," Flack completed the thought.

Stella rolled her eyes as the two men went off on "amazing feats they had seen (or done)". At least they were getting along. "Excuse me a minute, Don," she nudged him out of the way. "Back in a second."

There, that would give them time to talk, not she thought with a sigh, that they would probably use it.

There was a moment's silence as the two men sized each other up. Flack cleared his throat. "So, we good?"

Mac looked up with a sense of déjà vu – Danny had asked almost the same thing, in practically the same words, just after the Tanglewood business. Mac still felt that he had handled that badly; he was determined to do better this time.

"You going to be careful with her?"

"Yeah." No declarations of undying love; no promises to look after his tough Stella who could do a pretty good job of it herself. Just a straightforward statement. Flack found himself looking Mac in the eyes, a task no man took on lightly.

"Okay then. Good luck." Mac tipped his glass in a salute and they both drank.

Stella came back and as Flack slid out of the booth to let her back in, his pager went off. He looked at it, a hint of a frown on his face, and said, "Sorry, I have to take this. Back in a moment."

Stella squeezed his arm as he passed, then sat across from Mac again, chin up, a little challenging. "So?"

A world of trust and affection passed between them in one glance.

"Are you happy, Stel?" Mac had always been a man of few words, but he could barely talk around the lump in his throat this time.

"You know what? I really, really am. I would never have expected this, and I wasn't looking for it. But he gets me, Mac. I don't have to be anything but me with Don." She looked up from her glass, her eyes shining, with happiness and a few tears.

"Then I'm happy for you too. Anything you need, I'm still here."

She reached across the table and grasped his hand tightly. "As always."

Don stood outside the restaurant, pretending to talk on his cell phone, watching Mac and Stella. He had to assume the clasped hands were a good thing. He looked down at the message on his pager again.

"Give us 5 mins, OK? LuvU. S"


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word

_What have I got to do to make you love me_

_What have I got to do to make you care_

_What do I do when lightning strikes me_

_And I wake to find that you're not there_

Lindsay's voice was so quiet it blended in with the sounds of machines monitoring Danny's vital signs. She sat close to him, her head only a few inches away, and her hand was still tightly clasped in his. He couldn't believe she was here, was talking to him. He tried to concentrate on her words.

"Once upon a time… there was a little girl who wanted to be a police officer. I grew up in a household full of men. My mother died of breast cancer when I was 11. My three older brothers were already on the force. My dad and they attended her funeral in full dress uniform. There was a gun salute – I don't remember how many shots. My brothers all stood at attention, and when I cried as the coffin went into the ground, my youngest brother hit me and told me to shut up.

"I get it now," she shrugged when Danny opened his eyes in sympathy. "He was holding on to his own tears; I was going to put him over. But I knew then that I had cried my last tear in that house, at least the last anyone could know about."

"My dad was a cop through and through, and he treated us all like recruits. As it turned out, he wasn't far wrong – every one of my brothers made it through high school and into the academy. Academics happened on a need-to-know basis; my brother Mike, the second oldest, was a genius in Chem, so forensics was a natural for him; the next one, Jason, was a tough-as-steel football player, so he did his college scholarship time. No one was forced into the police. We just never thought of any other direction.

"Dad had a problem with me, though. When my mum was diagnosed, the migraines started. They would wipe me out for a couple of days. Then when my mum died, I decided being a girl sucked. I went home from the funeral, cut off all my hair and told everyone to call me Indy." She shrugged again when Danny grinned. "What can I say? I still have a thing for Harrison Ford.

"Dad didn't know what to do. I guess he'd promised my mum I'd have a normal upbringing, but Dad could hardly handle himself, much less kids. It all fell on me. I helped Joey with his homework – he was the youngest one, closest to me in age. I bugged Mike about chemistry and math – I already knew I was good at that. I played football with Jason – beat him too, especially on kicking."

Without taking his eyes off her, Danny handed her his water glass. Her voice was going hoarse.

"Thanks. What you just did – paying attention to me? – that never happened in my house. I wasn't treated badly, never cruelly. My dad wouldn't have laid a hand on me, and any bruises I got from my brothers I repaid with interest. It's just – they never saw me, you know? The migraines got worse, and Dad finally gave in and sent me to a shrink – a lot of them, actually.

"Every time I would get used to one, Dad would get frustrated because I wasn't getting better, and would drag me off to someone else. I finally told one doctor what was going on at home; she called Social Services, and had me apprehended and examined for sexual assault. I guess I had told her my dad treated me like the mother, and she took a leap. It took months for my father to look at me again. He stopped searching for a doctor to fix me, though.

"I was smart, and I excelled at school. By the time I went to university, all the boys were on the force. Together with my dad, they made quite a team. There was no way I was going to miss out on that. Maybe, if I became a cop too, I'd finally be good enough for him."

Danny's heart ached for the little girl who had tried so hard to be accepted by her own family. He knew a little something about that. "Don't stop now, Linds. That explains why you were there; not why you came here."

She smiled a little shakily. "See, you're doing it again – paying attention."

She sighed. The easy part was over. She could leave it there, she knew. Danny wouldn't push her any further than she was ready to go. She could make her move to New York seem like a chance to get out from under her family name. She didn't think he'd buy it, but she knew he'd let her pretend, if that's what she wanted. She took a deep breath.

"I joined the force out of university and met Anna Monroe."

Danny's eyebrows raised, but he kept his mouth shut.

"She was in charge of the CS unit. I guess you could call her a mentor, but that is a pretty pale description. She became all the female role models I had never had. So when she asked me to investigate allegations of corruption in the force, I was determined not to let her down."

Danny nodded again; Lindsay was well-known for her determination. He kept his hand wrapped tight around hers. He didn't want her to feel him pull away for a minute.

"It took me six months. I can't go into it all – the files are sealed and I don't want to think about it. But at the end of the day, my evidence brought down 15 police officers on the force, including a captain, my father's best friend …" her voice died away. Then she cleared her throat and looked Danny in the eye. "And my oldest brother."

The worst was almost over. "I had to testify. As well as the drug connections, Tim had been involved in a prostitution ring. My sister-in-law showed up one day at the precinct and laid charges: when she had asked him what was going on, why he was so tense, he beat her …"

Danny sat up, grimacing at the pain in his battered ribs, but unable to help himself. He pulled Lindsay in to his arms and held her while she cried.

"My father no longer talks to me; neither will any of my brothers. I contacted this lab, changed my name. I didn't leave Montana, Danny. It shut me out."

But for the first time in a long time, with Danny's arms wrapped around her, his voice soothing her, Lindsay felt at home.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: You took the Words Right Out of My Mouth

_And then you took the words right out of my mouth_

_Oh, it must have been while you were kissin' me_

_You took the words right out of my mouth_

_Oh and I swear it's true, I was just about to say-ay I love you _

Mac looked out of his office, overseeing his lab. Damn, he hated being wrong. A busy, vibrant lab was better than a quiet, unhappy one. After the past few months, the lab seemed to have brightened up. People were talking, arguing, sharing lunches, playing practical jokes. It felt good, he realized, to have people come to work content. The job was hard enough.

He noticed Stella and Don Flack walking through the lab, talking about the case they had just caught. Stella was trying to explain to Flack that the suspect he favoured couldn't possibly have done it.

"But he's an asshole, Stella. Couldn't you find a way to make him the one?"

"Just because he checked me out, it doesn't make him a killer, Don."

"It could make him a dead man, though." Flack growled under his breath, so Stella could hear him. She laughed and smacked him.

Good thing Mac could read lips, or he'd miss a lot more of what went on under his nose.

In another section of the lab, Lindsay was excitedly telling Danny the results of her tests. She was bouncing from side to side, practically throwing paper at him, trying to force him to see it all the way she did. He was sitting on a counter, laughing at her. When she grabbed his hand to make him come and examine her results, he looked around and sneaked a kiss. She wriggled away, but threw him a smile over her shoulder designed to keep him interested.

Mac sighed. He'd have to cut those two a little slack this week, he guessed, although he still hated to let personal relationships interfere with the work of the lab.

He stood at his window for another moment. Actually, he had to admit, personal relationships almost ran the lab. His favourite line about "evidence without context" applied even here: without the context of personal relationships, the evidence was not complete.

He turned back to his desk. Usually paperwork was something his tidy mind only accepted as necessary, but the top document was pure pleasure. With a smile that lit up his eyes, he signed the form Lindsay had filled out that morning.

Request for Name Change

Original Name: _Lindsay Monroe_

Change to: _Lindsay Messer_

Signed, _Mac Taylor, Captain_


End file.
